


Mutatis mutandis

by merulanoir



Series: Nocturnal Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Monster hunting shenanigans, No angst here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “What’s the ingredient and how dangerous getting it would be?” Geralt asked with a resigned sigh.Regis looked at him carefully. “Do you know what a quintaped is?”Geralt stared at him for a long time. Regis’ face grew sheepish.“I...do know they’re rather dangerous."





	Mutatis mutandis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift fic for [snuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes)! A day early, because I was informed it's not polite to post fics at 6am in the morning on workdays. Happy birthday Monty! <3
> 
> Beta by the ever-fabulous [Dor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean). <3
> 
> Last but not least, [please do everyone involved a favor and remind yourselves of what a quintaped looks like](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Quintaped). :D This fic, as well as the first part of the series, takes place in 2017ish. Just so you can place yourselves on the HP timeline.

“You want my help with what?”

Regis twisted around on the bed, smiling. “I need to brew a potion. I could use a hand.”

Geralt allowed the vampire to snuggle closer, which meant he ended up serving as an adult-sized pillow.

“You do realise I’m an auror and not an alchemist?” he asked as he combed his fingers through Regis’ hair. It was rougher than his own, but he had no idea if that was a vampire thing.

Regis peered at him, careful not to move so as not to dislodge Geralt’s petting hand. “Yes, but I require help in acquiring one of the ingredients. You’re very capable.”

Geralt made a noncommittal sound. Regis pressed a kiss to his chest and breathed in deep; it was a gesture Geralt was coming to associate with Regis feeling comfortable. He suspected the vampire’s sense of smell was much more accurate than that of a human, and he had half a mind to ask Regis what he was trying to sniff out.

“I was going to ask Dettlaff, but then I thought, I do know an auror who is extremely skilled in combat magic and who isn’t afraid of—”

“Hang on,” Geralt said and used his free hand to tilt Regis’ face towards himself. He was very aware he’d have zero hope of doing so against Regis’ will.

“Combat magic? Just what kind of a potion are we talking about?”

Regis tried to remain serious, but a smile was tugging at his mouth. The sight sent a rush of warmth through Geralt.

“You do remember what I am?” Regis asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Hard to forget when you give me hickeys every time you so much as nip at me,” Geralt muttered without any heat. Regis had the audacity to grin, and in the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains his fangs flashed dully.

“I’m very sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Geralt told him, electing to ignore the fact that he had been everything but opposed to the action.

“Anyway, as I told you before, vampires have to drink some human blood to stay alive,” Regis went on. His expression sobered, but he remained relaxed against Geralt. “And some of my kind...abuse that.”

Geralt remembered the discussion they’d had five days ago. They had been dating for a few weeks, and neither was in a hurry to give a name to the thing building between them. However, Geralt was waking up with Regis snuggled up to his side more often than not, and some mutual confusion had driven them to having a serious talk of sorts.

Regis had been cradling a coffee mug in his tiny kitchen, wearing one of Geralt’s old muggle t-shirts, and he’d just looked so good there that Geralt’s face must have betrayed how absolutely fucking screwed he was. Regis’ eyes had gone wide, and Geralt had wanted to hide inside his broom closet; instead he’d sat his ass down and looked at Regis so helplessly the vampire had started to laugh. There had been a faint note of hysteria in it, but soon he had calmed down and taken Geralt’s hand. Then Regis had told Geralt about his past.

By the time Regis got to managing to kick his addiction and moving to Britain, he had started to look sad and ready to get booted out. Geralt had spent a long time blinking and trying to form words, but in the end he had settled on kissing Regis.

He didn’t want to start passing judgements, not when the transgressions Regis told him about had happened decades ago and the vampire clearly regretted them. He of all people knew people changed; mostly for the worse, but sometimes for better.

“So you’ve said,” Geralt told Regis, resuming stroking his hair to show he was listening. The vampire sighed and his eyes slipped closed.

“I have been developing a potion that could be used as an alternative. It has been slow going, and I have had to use human blood as the base, because otherwise it wouldn’t produce the desired effect.”

“You’ve...developed a potion that would allow a vampire to live without blood?” Geralt said. Regis opened his eyes when he heard how awed Geralt sounded. 

“It’s not a very popular endeavor, truth be told,” Regis chuckled. “Most vampires have no qualms about blood drinking.” His smile turned softer when Geralt refused to stop looking impressed.

“Dettlaff has very kindly helped me test the potion during the past years, and a mutual human friend has been providing me with a vial or two of blood when I need it to survive, but now I think I have finally identified a replacement.” Regis pressed against Geralt’s hand, and the auror remembered to keep petting. “Acquiring it would mean I wouldn’t need to drink human blood.”

There was a note of wistful hope in his voice, and hearing it made Geralt’s heart squeeze. His brain once again pointed out how extraordinary Regis was: he didn’t try to hide his true nature when they were alone, but nothing about him made Geralt feel threatened. 

He’d ended up adjusting his own life to accommodate the few things Regis required, but giving his houseplants to Ciri because they couldn’t survive without sunlight seemed like a small sacrifice. He’d acquired thick, dark curtains into every room, because Regis had explained that direct sunlight wasn’t deadly to vampires; it was just dreadfully uncomfortable, and since Geralt had not gotten around to getting rid of the cat eyes, he kind of understood.

He missed garlic, but after forgetting what he’d had for lunch and sending Regis scrambling to the bathroom and then be violently sick for _hours_ was enough of a trauma to make him remember what foods to avoid. He’d made up some bullshit excuse about getting migraines from it, and no one at work had bought it. The latest rumor around the office was that he was dating some dainty cook.

His life was a little different, but it was also so much better in many ways. He’d requested more evening shifts after deciding to keep the odd cat eyes, and Amrita had obliged with a sceptical look. Geralt had never been an early riser, but when he had started to sleep with Regis, his internal clock had happily fucked everything over and turned him into a nocturnal person. Sleeping through the morning was slowly becoming the norm, and Geralt had meant to complain, really; only, he was awfully happy to spend the night hours with Regis at his shop, and wake up around two in the afternoon to Regis snoring softly into his hair.

“What’s the ingredient and how dangerous getting it would be?” Geralt asked with a resigned sigh.

Regis looked at him carefully. “Do you know what a quintaped is?”

Geralt stared at him for a long time. Regis’ face grew sheepish.

“I...do know they’re rather dangerous,” he added when Geralt still said nothing. “The current research efforts concerning the creatures have been halted, but there is reasonable evidence to believe they no longer possess human intelligence. And yes, I _know_ the Isle of Drear is unplottable, but there are ways—”

Geralt stemmed the flow of words by kissing Regis. He started to laugh into the kiss, and the vampire smiled, nuzzling his cheek when they parted.

“You’re impossible to silence when you get going,” Geralt chuckled. He laid back down, and Regis reclaimed his place half on top of Geralt.

“Right, so, you want to break multiple laws, get to an uplottable island at the north tip of Scotland, and go hunt a vicious beast that likes to eat human flesh,” Geralt said. “Did I leave out anything?”

“We wouldn’t need to harm the beasts,” Regis offered, but the look in his eyes was half-amused, half-resigned. “I only need to harvest some blood.”

“Why in Merlin’s name a quintaped?” Geralt asked. He knew he’d regret getting the answer, but at the same time he was just a touch curious. Ciri had loved care of magical creatures while she had still been a student at Hogwarts, and her general opinion was that the more dangerous the creature, the better.

Geralt had learned more than he’d ever wanted to know about the rumored ancient feud between the two wizard families of the Isle of Drear, and the subsequent creation of the five-legged monsters. Ciri had been fascinated, Geralt had been revolted, and in the end he had distracted his daughter from the topic by promising she could apply for a summer job in The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

 _That_ had resulted in Ciri spending the summer before her seventh school year in Northern Ireland researching kelpies. She had met her future girlfriend on that trip, but Geralt had lost so much sleep during that time he had been almost glad when Ciri chose to become a curse-breaker instead of a magizoologist.

“The legend has it that quintapeds were created when the McCliverts turned the MacBoons into hairy beasts. A scholar of rather eclectic reputation later proposed that a quintaped ought to be classified as a mutated human.” Regis’ fingers traced a scar on Geralt’s chest, his voice thoughtful. “Getting hold of a minuscule vial of quintaped blood was difficult, but it all but confirmed my theory. If I somehow managed to acquire more, I could most likely quit relying on my friend to provide me with her blood every second month.”

“You do realize that proving a quintaped is actually a human creates some kinda nasty ethical questions?” Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow. Regis nodded, his hair tickling Geralt’s chin.

“Absolutely. If the potion works, I would present the results to the Ministry. Although the past attempts to transfigure the “hairy MacBoons” have been rather unsuccessful, so most officials agree that they must like their current state.”

“They eat everyone who comes closer than fifty yards, Regis,” Geralt sighed, but he resumed stroking the vampire’s hair. “Alright, let’s say I’m willing to help. How would we go about harvesting blood?”

Regis turned around and stared. Geralt met his gaze, and then he realised Regis had not expected him to agree at all. Something soft and warm unfurled inside his chest. It was related to the feeling that had made its home inside of him when he had looked at Regis in his kitchen. 

“You are not joking.” Regis’ voice was small. There was a fragile expression on his face.

Geralt wanted to look away, but instead he brushed his hand through Regis’ dark hair. He didn’t know what to say.

He knew he’d go. As long as Regis had a good plan and a cause to do something so stupidly risky, Geralt knew he’d rather accompany the vampire than stay at home and worry.

Regis swallowed. “I… To be honest, I never expected you to agree.” He looked like he lost his carefully planned idea of how the conversation was supposed to go, just then.

Geralt sighed. He hugged Regis closer, and the vampire buried his face into his neck. They stayed there for a long while.

“I wanna help you,” Geralt finally said. He felt Regis’ eyelashes ghost over his skin as the vampire blinked rapidly.

“But why?” There was no accusation in Regis’ tone, just genuine puzzlement.

Geralt looked at the ceiling. He knew what he wanted to say, but it was so early. They had been together for a month, give or take, but being with Regis was easy like nothing had ever been before. Hell, it had taken Geralt six years to move in with Yen; yet he and Regis practically lived together already.

“I care about you,” Geralt said quietly. He cleared his throat. “And your plan will most likely be stupid and you need someone to look after you,” he added in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

Regis peered at him with narrowed eyes, but a smile was tugging at his lips. He looked like he understood what topic Geralt was avoiding, and agreed on letting the matter rest. Still, there was a soft look in his eyes for a while.

“I know a witch who can draw us a map, despite the unplottability” he said. “As for the creatures themselves, they are extremely agile and quick, but not even nearly as resistant to magic as, say, dragons or graphorns. Two carefully aimed stunning spells is enough to take out a much bigger animal.”

“How much blood would you need? I’m sorta hoping you’re not planning on making these visits regular.” Geralt felt Regis smile, and the vampire pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I had less than half a teaspoon of blood for my tests, and the resulting potion has already lasted over two months. A few decent-sized flasks would keep me supplied for years.”

“Potent stuff,” Geralt muttered. He sighed again. “Okay. When do you wanna go?”

Regis looked at him again. Then he smiled so wide his fangs showed. Geralt wondered for a second whether Regis had always been a vampire, or if he had been turned. He had not asked, because he didn’t know whether it was considered impolite.

“And to think that I was only interested in you because you were an auror with unusual eyes,” Regis murmured. His fingers stroked Geralt’s cheekbone. “How very wrong I was.”

Geralt smiled back. He didn’t know what to say, or if he needed to say anything at all. Being with Regis was easy. Their ways of living complimented each other, the sex was great, and it really wasn’t very different from any other relationship Geralt had been in.

“How about today? We have a few hours before the sun sets, but since the weather is cloudy, I could most likely stand to expose myself to daylight that much,” Regis asked. His fingers started to play with Geralt’s auror medallion. It was fashioned after a wolf’s head, after the branch where he’s received his special training, and mostly served to alert him to dark magic. 

For all the lore about vampires being creatures of dark and evil, Regis had never so much as caused the medallion to twitch.

“Well, I have the weekend off,” Geralt said. He stretched. “But if we go, we’re leaving a message to two separate people. Just as a precaution.”

“Of course,” Regis nodded. “Your daughter would be worried otherwise.”

“Are you kidding? Ciri would stun me and lock me in the closet if she knew what we were gonna do,” Geralt sighed. “Or she’d blackmail me to take her with us. Fifty-fifty; she was always fascinated with dangerous creatures.”

Regis’ eyes lit up. “Remind me to ask her about that summer job in Ireland,” he said, and then laughed when Geralt shoved him off the bed.

***

Geralt had mentally prepared for a horrible trip, but as they apparated to the rocky shore of the Isle of Drear, he had to amend it a bit: it was likely going to be the worst day of his life.

The small island was enveloped in a wet, murky cloud that emphasised the name of the place. A miserable drizzle made his robes moist right away, and the wind that was blowing came from the north. It was bitterly cold. Around them, small hills and shrubbery took turns with rocky patches in creating a grey and green scenery.

Regis looked around with sharp eyes, turning in half a circle before relaxing a bit.

“Good, we made it.” His voice was very quiet. He then glanced at Geralt. “I’m sorry we have to refrain from using magic for now. Quintapeds can sense it.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt assured the vampire. Then his brain caught up: Regis was holding a wand. It looked like it was made from ebony; nimble and sleek black, with a handle wrapped in soft leather.

“You have a wand,” Geralt said before he got his mouth under control. Regis looked at his hand and grinned.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, even as he felt his neck heat up. “I mean, I’ve never seen you with one.”

Regis smiled and brushed his free hand down Geralt’s arm. “I rarely use it, but I’ve had this wand almost all my life.”

A myriad of questions popped up in Geralt’s head. He had always just...assumed vampires lived outside human societies, and thus wouldn’t partake in wizarding world rituals, such as getting a wand. Suddenly he realised he didn’t even know whether Regis categorised himself as a wizard, or if he’d gone to school somewhere.

The vampire didn’t miss a thing. His clever black eyes grew gentle. 

“You may ask me anything, my dear.” When Geralt’s face turned embarrassed, Regis took his hand. “I would not have answered truthfully earlier, to be honest, but I want you to know those reservations are almost completely gone now.”

He looked around again and smiled. “We can come back to this topic later, hm?”

“Yeah,” Geralt blurted out. He let go of Regis’ hand and rubbed his face. The drizzle made his beard bead with moisture. “Let’s focus on getting out of here alive and unharmed.”

Regis nodded. He stood very still for a moment, listening intently, and then fixed his eyes on a ruin of a house they could see on the horizon. The distance didn’t seem long, but the grey rain made assessing it difficult. Geralt had a nasty feeling they were being watched.

“Walking straight to the nest is most likely a suicidal idea,” Regis murmured to himself. “I think we need to lure one of the beasts out.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

Regis smiled, and without taking his eyes off the house, pulled a small pouch from his pocket. He was wearing an oilskin coat, and once again Geralt wondered whether Regis ever used wizard clothes.

When Geralt looked at the pouch, he realized he’d seen one before.

“That’s mokeskin,” he said. Regis nodded.

“Correct. And I brought some supplies with me.” He opened the pouch and unceremoniously shoved his whole arm inside. Geralt snorted, not the least bit surprised Regis would know how to enlarge the insides. He’d never really figured that spell out.

A second later a sickly, sweet smell penetrated the air, and Geralt backed away. He covered his nose as his eyes watered.

“What,” he asked, trying not to gag, “the hell is that?”

Regis was holding a clump of _something_ wrapped in kraft paper and tied up with string. The stench became even more overwhelming as the vampire held the thing on his hand, as far away from his nose as possible.

“It’s a bait,” he said in a voice that suggested he was finding the odor even more pungent than Geralt. “I made it from—”

“Right, awesome,” Geralt cut in. “Just do your thing, will you?”

With a flash, Regis threw the bait away from them, towards the ruin. Geralt knew from first-hand experience the vampire was strong, but he still admired the arc the lump made as it soared through the sky like a smelly meteorite. It landed about fifty yards away from them, in a clearing framed by a few tall boulders and some shrubs.

Regis nudged Geralt, and they found a hiding place in a thicket under a solitary tree. The reek of the bait cleared as a moist wind blew from the sea, and Geralt tried to suppress a shiver. Beside him, Regis sniffed, as if trying to clear his sinuses.

“So, how do we do this?” Geralt asked in a whisper. 

Regis pursed his lips. “We have to be careful, but according to my research, two stunning spells ought to be enough to incapacitate a full-grown quintaped, at least when the casters are competent enough.”

Geralt snorted. Regis glanced at him and smiled, but then kept gazing towards the clearing.

“Do quintapeds really build nests though?” Geralt asked. He scratched his neck. He had a feeling _something_ knew they were there. 

“As far as I know, yes.” Regis’ grip on his wand was steady, but his shoulders were tenser than usual. “They form family units when it’s mating season, but otherwise they—”

There was a rustle from the tree, and then something heavy slammed on Geralt, knocking the wind out of him as he went down. The stench of a wet dog and rotting meat hit him almost as hard a second later, and to his horror, he realised his wand was no longer in his hand.

He heard a sound that was half-growl, half-laughter, and a hot breath across the back of his head made horror crawl up his spine.

_“Expulso!”_

The strength of Regis’ spell made the air crack, and the creature pinning him down was wrenched off as it went flying. Geralt scrambled onto his feet, ears ringing by the explosion. He spotted his wand on the ground and grabbed it, noting with relief it was undamaged.

Regis crept forward, wand pointed towards the quintaped. The monster had been flipped on its back when it had crashed to the ground, but as they watched, the five clubfeet dragged it upright again.

It was approximately the size of a six-person dinner table. Its five limbs were covered in coarse, reddish brown hair, caked with mud. It had bulging, bloodshot eyes that fixed back on Geralt the moment the creature managed to reorient itself.

“Are you alright?” Regis asked.

“Yeah.” Geralt kept his wand pointed towards the quintaped, but he couldn’t help casting a glance around them. He was sure the rest of the herd knew they were here by now.

“I’m sorry I didn’t smell it.” Regis’ face was pinched. “The bait must have clogged my nose.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt said. “Let’s just do what we came here to do.”

“On three?”

“You got it.”

As Regis had guessed, their combined stunning spells made the quintaped groan and topple into the ground as red sparks ricocheted in every direction. When he was certain the monster was unconscious, Regis nodded at Geralt, who proceeded to stand guard. He still had that creeping feeling they were being watched.

Regis pulled flasks from his mokeskin pouch and carefully bled the quintaped from one of the bulky limbs. His eyes were intent as he worked, and Geralt strained his ears to listen for any signs of life around them. The wind whispered across the hilly terrain, occasionally bringing droplets of rain with it. Evening was encroaching, and Geralt thought that on occasions like this the cat eyes were worth the trouble.

“There, all done.” Regis appeared by his side. Geralt saw him slip the mokeskin pouch back into his coat pocket. “We can rennervate the creature and return home.”

Geralt opened his mouth to suggest just letting the spell wear off on its own, but right then a shrill scream pierced the air.

“That was a human,” Regis breathed. His eyes were enormous as he looked around. “It came from the clearing.”

“Awesome,” Geralt groaned. They started to run back towards the clearing, scrambling over the rocky terrain and slipping on mole hills. Abruptly, Regis came to a stop, and Geralt almost collided with him.

The bait, or what was left of it, was lying on the ground. Pieces of wrapping paper were scattered around it. The grass had been upturned here and there, as if several creatures had been fighting over scraps. 

Three enormous quintapeds were circling one of the boulders. Geralt barely suppressed a groan when he saw a woman with blond hair hanging onto the biggest rock, almost fifteen feet over the trampled ground. It looked like she had made it up the boulder’s face out of sheer panic, and was now struggling to keep her hold. Falling from that height would surely result in broken bones, and that was before the hairy monsters got to her.

“We can’t stun three of those fuckers,” Geralt groaned. “They’re massive.”

One of the quintapeds made a surprisingly agile jump into the air, and its sharp teeth snapped air only a foot or so below the ankle of the woman. She gasped and drew in on herself. Geralt saw her fingers were bleeding.

Right then, she looked up, and saw them.

“Help me!” she shouted. “I dropped my wand!”

Geralt saw Regis’ eyes flick to the ground under the pacing feet of the quintapeds.

“ _Accio_ wand!”

A thin wand flew through the air, and Regis caught it with ease. Then he bit his lip.

“I can’t risk floating it to her,” he said. “She needs both of her hands to hang on.”

Geralt saw the vampire was right. The woman was starting to shake, and he knew they had only moments before she would fall.

“Apparate to us!” he shouted. The woman’s eyes snapped up again, wide and scared.

“I’ve never done it without my wand!” The wind was picking up, and her dirty blond hair obscured her face for a moment.

“You’re going to fall!” Geralt felt his heart race, and adrenaline was making his fingers tingle. “You can do it!”

The woman attempted to shout something, but her bloody hand slipped. Regis gasped as the witch started to fall, but right before the largest of the quintapeds attempted to catch her with its teeth, a loud _crack_ echoed through the clearing and she vanished mid-air.

Geralt threw his hands up and caught the witch as she appeared again. He stumbled and avoided falling only because Regis’ hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder hard. A second later Geralt registered his hands were slick with blood, and a nasty jolt went through him.

She’d managed, but splinched along the way.

“We have to go!” Regis shouted. Geralt saw the quintapeds gallop towards them, grass and mud flying as they snarled. The smell of fresh blood spurred them into a frenzy, and the last thing Geralt saw before Regis gripped both him and the witch tight, was the mad eyes of the biggest monster as it leapt into the air.

They landed in a heap in the middle of Regis’ shop. Geralt’s tailbone hit the hardwood floor, but he kept his hold of the witch. She whimpered at the impact, and Geralt saw where the splinch had occurred; her left robe sleeve was badly torn, and a large chunk of flesh was missing from her bicep. Blood was flowing out in bright red pulses.

Before he could do anything, Regis knelt down and ripped the sleeve off with no regard of trying to keep his cover as a human. He pointed his wand at the grievous wound, and begun to murmur an incantation. Geralt didn’t dare to move, and he allowed Regis’ melodious voice to ground him as he tried to catch his breath.

Despite the thunder-like hammering of his pulse, Geralt recognised the spell. _Vulnera Sanentur_ had been introduced to the auror training after the war, on behalf of none other than Harry Potter himself. Geralt had a hazy recollection of hearing a rumor about late Severus Snape being its original inventor. Geralt technically knew how the wound-healing spell was supposed to be cast, but the only time he’d been forced to use it, the wound had scarred badly, and only their proximity to St. Mungo’s had prevented Eskel from bleeding out in the end.

It was devilishly nuanced magic, and as Geralt watched, he realised in astonishment that Regis had modified the spell. The wording was subtly different, and his wand moved much less than Geralt expected.

The blood started to slow instantly. Geralt felt the witch tremble in his arms, muscles taut with panic and pain, but the bright red gushes became smaller and smaller, until they stopped altogether. Regis repeated the song-like spell several times, until Geralt saw the skin slowly begin to knit back together.

Finally, the vampire lowered his wand. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and Geralt saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked exhausted.

“There,” Regis said. His voice was low and soothing. “I will get you some dittany in a minute, to avoid scarring.”

“Thank you,” the witch breathed. She cautiously sat up straight, and Geralt climbed to his feet. He was aching, and the adrenaline was only now starting to leave him.

“I thought I was done for,” the witch said as she was helped up by Regis. She swayed, and Geralt hastily found a chair for her. They all sat down next to the counter, and Regis retrieved a jar of ointment from the backroom. The witch allowed him to spread the sharp-smelling salve onto the healing wound. It started to smoke slightly, and she made a face.

“You will most likely get some aches to the site of injury, but with any luck, there will be no harm to your mobility or nerves,” Regis said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wand he’d rescued. “Here you go. It should be undamaged.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” the witch breathed as she accepted the wand. “Rolf would have been so disappointed if I broke it.”

She dragged her fingers through the mop of blond hair. Only now Geralt saw her eyes were a very pale shade of silver. She was wearing what looked like earrings made out of orange radishes.

“Now,” she said with an embarrassed smile as she looked at both of them. “I hazard a guess you were on the Isle of Drear just as illegally as yours truly.”

“What makes you think that?” Regis asked. Geralt admired how the vampire kept a completely straight face.

“Because no one in their right mind would try to lure out a quintaped with a bait made out of rotten troll flesh and giant squid innards,” the witch said with a smile that seemed more amused than accusing. Geralt glanced at Regis, who shrugged with an embarrassed expression.

“Well, it appears we were both caught red-handed,” Regis amended after an uneasy silence. He cast a furtive look at Geralt who sighed.

“What were you doing on that island anyway?” he asked the witch.

She stuck her wand behind her ear. “The quintapeds are the descendants of the MacBoons, right? I have been dreadfully curious to find out whether they have any human intelligence left in them.” Her mouth twisted into a thoughtful grimace. “I may be forced to admit my husband was right when he called my endeavor dotty.”

She saw both Regis and Geralt stare at her, and blew out a breath. “The cat’s out of the cauldron, I think. I’m Luna Lovegood.” She extended her hand to Geralt, who shook it numbly, and then to Regis. The vampire’s mouth was hanging slightly open.

“You’re married to Rolf Scamander, the Chief Consulting Magizoologist,” he finally said, in a voice that was caught halfway between awe and horror. Geralt recognized the name from the Daily Prophet, but he knew even better who Luna Lovegood was. Everyone who had been alive during the second war knew the names of Potter’s closest friends.

“That’s right.” Luna’s face turned troubled. “And I’d really appreciate if we found a way to agree that this little journey never happened.”

Regis shrugged. “As you pointed out, none of us set foot on the Isle of Drear legally.” He looked at Geralt, who nodded.

Luna smiled. Her eyes were bulging a bit, but after you got used to her intense stare, she looked rather friendly. Her gaze moved to Geralt, and her mouth split into a delighted grin.

“You have _spectacular_ eyes.”

Geralt scowled, and Regis bit back a laugh. Luna looked around the shop. 

“I know it’s no business of mine to know what drew you two to the island, but I have to admit I’m terribly curious.” Her voice was kind and even a little excited, as if they were co-conspirators, instead of strangers who had just stumbled into each other while breaking several laws.

Regis gestured to himself. “My name is Regis. I’m an alchemist and a healer.” Geralt knew the vampire purposefully let him decide whether to lie or not, but it felt almost petty. After all, Luna Lovegood was as famous as witches and wizards came, and she’d told them her real name right away.

“Geralt Rivia,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I was there to make sure my daft companion got home safely.”

Regis chuckled, and Luna grinned even wider.

“So, care to tell?” she said as she peered at Regis with keen eyes. “If you’re an alchemist, I’m guessing you were after some ingredients.”

Regis nodded, but his shoulders crept up. Geralt knew the vampire had likely not thought of a cover story for a case like this.

Luna cocked her head. “Does it have something to do with you being a vampire?” 

Geralt felt his eyes boggle, and Regis’ mouth fell open.

After a shocked, ringing silence, Regis finally spoke: “How do you—?”

Luna smacked her forehead. “Blimey, I forget it’s not polite to lead with that! Sorry.” She rubbed her face, which was blushing furiously. “Rolf keeps telling me it’s very impolite to out people like that, but I thought your husband knew.”

Geralt opened and closed his mouth, but no words came. His neck was suddenly feeling very hot against his damp collar.

Luna looked from Regis to him, and then buried her face into her hands.

“You’re not married, right, okay” she groaned. “I just noticed how Geralt looks at you Regis, and—oh, blast it— _and_ I’m really going to shut up now.”

Regis wrenched himself free from his stupor. He carefully patted Luna’s arm, and when the witch peeked at him between her fingers, he smiled.

“Would you like some tea?”

***

“Can’t believe we got out with only some minor scratches.”

Regis smiled. His hands reached for Geralt’s robes. They fell to the floor of the bathroom of his small apartment, and the vampire pulled him closer. The shower spray was thrumming the floor, its water slowly warming. 

“Thank you,” Regis whispered.

Geralt hugged him closer, fingers finding their place in Regis’ messy hair. He breathed in the smell of aniseed and cinnamon, now mostly faded after their adventure, and brushed a kiss to Regis’ forehead.

“Anytime.”

Regis pulled back enough to look him in the eye. Geralt still liked to catalogue the different smiles the vampire had, and this one was somehow special; it was warm, a bit sad, and there was a thread of hope clinging to it. He bent down to kiss it, and Regis sighed as he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck.

Geralt backed Regis under the spray of the shower, mentally thanking the vampire for thinking bathtubs just as ridiculous as he did. Regis’ smile transformed into a grin as his back hit the wall and they both got wet, the water just hot enough to soothe aches but not burn skin.

The shower turned into delighted fumbling, until the floor was considerably wetter and both of them were laughing and out of breath. Regis met Geralt’s eye with a happy, open expression as he finally rinsed away the last suds and turned the shower off. He wrapped a towel around Geralt before waving his hand at the puddles, which begun to dry on their own.

As they dried off, Geralt wondered whether Regis even carried his wand on his person. Only when they crawled into bed a bit later he remembered what the vampire had told him earlier; he was allowed to ask.

“Why don’t you use your wand?” Geralt asked as he rolled onto his back and Regis immediately found his favorite place, lying almost on top of him.

Regis’ answering smile was slow. He looked up and Geralt met his gaze.

“Just preference, to be honest.” Regis shrugged. “I started experimenting with wandless magic when I decided to get rid of my blood addiction. It requires one to focus their mind much harder.”

“I know,” Geralt chuckled. “I can manage basic spells fine, but anything trickier is pretty much hopeless.”

Regis hummed. “In the end, the practice started to pay off. I was curious to see how well I’d manage without a wand, while still living among my own and performing magic as usual.”

“Among your own?” Geralt asked. “Do you mean other vampires?”

Regis laughed. “No. The magical community.”

Geralt started to stroke Regis’ hair. “You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to, but I realised I don’t even know where you’re originally from.”

Regis closed his eyes, but his smile remained. “Poland. After my reformation I lived in France for a while, and visited many other countries besides.”

“Why settle here, then?” Geralt tried to decide whether Regis had a foreign accent, but he couldn’t hear it; the vampire sounded just as British as any other person he knew.

Regis glanced at him. “My friend Dettlaff has been living in London for a long while. I guess I decided I missed a sense of—community, if you will. People who knew who and what I was, and with whom I could stay in touch without being made to justify not wanting to drink human blood any more than absolutely necessary.”

He fell silent and his look turned thoughtful. “I have been working sort of underground for a while, treating mostly other nonhumans, but I wanted to try my hand at owning a legal business. Well, mostly legal,” he amended with a grin when Geralt started to shake with suppressed laughter.

“That’s kinda cool.” Geralt meant it, and Regis blinked, his face turning just a touch shy.

“Dettlaff thought befriending you was a terrible idea,” he said softly after a short silence. 

“So I gathered,” Geralt said. “He doesn’t like humans?”

Regis made a noncommittal sound. “He has his reasons, but mostly he is afraid you will expose us.” He met Geralt’s eyes again. “I am still treating nonhumans, most of whom can’t rely on regular practitioners for some reason or another.”

“If you need to keep your work things a secret, I won’t hold it against you,” Geralt said. Regis smiled at his earnest tone and serious frown, but his expression turned melancholy.

“It is rather selfish of me, I admit,” Regis said without looking away this time. “You’re a member of the law enforcement, and here I am, telling you about my comings and goings, some of which don’t quite fall into the sphere of legal activity.”

They stared at each other. Regis’ lips moved, as if he was on the verge of saying something more, but nothing came. Geralt’s chest was tight with _something_.

“You want to trust me.” Geralt spoke the words before he caught up with his thoughts. He felt a blush coming, but Regis only bit his lip and nodded, finally averting his intense gaze.

“I didn’t think I’d find anything like this,” he said very quietly. His hand twitched where it lay over Geralt’s heart, and Geralt grasped it without thinking. 

Regis sighed. “I can’t summon the energy to hide all the time, so if this will crash and burn because I distribute wolfsbane potion to some former criminals, sell polyjuice potion to a witch who needs to hide from her abusive ex-husband, or treat the ailments of those who are deemed too dangerous to partake in society, so be it.”

Geralt realised he had forgotten to breath. The feeling in his chest gave way to a fierce sort of adoration, and his pulse calmed down as he welcomed the knowledge. He craned his head up to kiss Regis, whose breath hitched as he cupped Geralt’s cheek.

“I want to be with you,” Geralt said when they finally pulled apart. “As long as you’re not harming anyone, I’m on your side.”

Regis’ mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stared at Geralt for a long while, and then laid his head back against his chest.

“Oh,” he whispered. “That is not what I expected to hear.”

Geralt smiled, resuming sorting through Regis’ damp curls. “Me coming along to illegally hunt human-eating monsters not enough of a giveaway?”

Regis chuckled. His eyes grew impossibly warm. “I suppose it was.”

***

Geralt woke up to Regis gently prodding him.

“What is it?” he murmured without opening his eyes. His body was heavy with sleep, and it was warm and cosy under the blankets. Regis’ bed was much more comfortable than his own.

“There’s an owl at the window,” Regis said. “She seems rather intent on delivering her letter.”

Geralt registered a restless tapping sound, and dragged himself into a sitting position. When he laid eyes on the fudge-colored bird outside the glass, his heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, crap, crap,” he muttered, rising from the bed and walking to the window. He slid the panel open, and the owl hopped on to his arm. She cast a criticising glance at him.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Geralt groaned. His fingers tugged a paper crane loose and it unfolded on its own. A clear, amused voice floated from the symbol scribbled on it.

“So. You managed to forget we were supposed to have brunch today.” Ciri’s voice wasn’t angry, and Geralt blew out a breath.

“We do this every Saturday, and yet somehow you managed to forget. I’d say it’s time I met this mysterious partner of yours.”

Geralt’s head turned, and he met Regis’ eyes. The vampire was sitting on the bed. His hair was a mess and he clearly struggled to wake up properly.

“I happen to know he owns the alchemy shop across the street. You’re not even nearly as secretive as you like to think,” Ciri went on. Geralt heard the gurgling of his coffee pot in the background of the magical recording. “I brought food, and the coffee will be ready in a few minutes. If you’re not here in ten, I will personally come fetch you.”

The message folded back into a crane, and the owl gave a happy hoot. She hopped back onto the windowsill.

Geralt rubbed a hand down his face. “Tell her—tell her we’ll be there,” he groaned. The owl snapped her beak and then she was gone. Geralt blew out a breath and looked around for his clothes. Some of them had migrated to Regis’ flat, so at least he wouldn’t have to wear the dirty robes from yesterday.

“I take it that was your daughter?” Regis’ voice was careful but he was smiling. Geralt nodded, rolling his eyes.

“Not that hard to guess. We usually have brunch every Saturday, but _something_ made me forget.”

“Why does she use the recording spell?” Regis asked. He dragged his fingers through his hair, and Geralt suppressed the wish to go and kiss him. The vampire was ridiculously attractive when he had bedhead.

Instead he picked up the paper crane from the dresser and looked at the symbol. Ciri had spent so much time learning to draw it just right.

“She has dyslexia,” Geralt said with a shrug. “Writing and reading is much harder for her, so when she can use an aid, she does. Makes life much easier.”

“I see.”

“You don’t need to come,” Geralt told Regis as he pulled on jeans. “I’ll explain it to her.”

Regis fiddled with the blanket and then looked up with a slight smile. “And if I wanted to?”

Geralt paused. He took in the smile that was so dear to him, and the way there wasn’t a hint of nervousness in Regis, and then he smiled too. Yet another puzzle piece settled into place, defining the things that had thus far been out of reach for either of them.

“Of course you can come.”

***

Ciri opened the door to Geralt’s flat with a grin. Her hair was in two braids and she was wearing her customary lazy Saturday brunch attire: muggle sweatpants and a faded Holyhead Harpies t-shirt.

“Greetings,” she laughed. She hugged Geralt, who tried to will away the embarrassed blush. Then she pulled away and peered at Regis. He was wearing a dark cotton shirt with washed-out chinos, managing to look simultaneously refined and relaxed.

“So, you’re the person who managed to lure my father out from perpetual bachelor life.” Ciri’s voice was kind and amused. Regis extended his hand and Ciri shook it. 

“Most likely,” Regis said with a faint laugh. “My name is Regis, and I guess you must be Cirilla.”

“I beg you, call me Ciri.” She pulled a face. “Only my boss calls me Cirilla, and she only does that when I’ve screwed up.”

Regis chuckled. As they made their way to the kitchen, Ciri cast a meaningful look at the heavy curtains and then to Geralt. He tensed, because he knew Ciri wasn’t fooled for a second; she had already guessed there was something unusual about Regis, and she was trying to figure out what it was.

He glanced at Regis. They should have agreed on how to broach the topic earlier. It was too late now. 

Ciri had brought food, and she needled Geralt about his work as they settled around the small table and helped themselves to croissants and jam. As Geralt was pouring coffee for all three of them, Regis suddenly cleared his throat.

“So, you’re a curse-breaker at Gringotts?”

“That’s right,” Ciri said. She tore small pieces off her croissant and dipped them into the apricot jam. Geralt had no idea how she managed to sit cross-legged on his uncomfortable kitchen chair. “I do mostly jobs on last wills, when items left behind are boobytrapped or cursed.” She grinned. “Once I got to deal with a whole house that was cursed not twice, thrice, but five times. The bloke who had inherited it told me his granny had been a mean old hag. Such a splendid gig.”

Regis laughed as he sipped coffee. “Sounds like you take after your father.”

“Ciri’s actually adopted,” Geralt said. He was starting to relax, because no matter how curious Ciri was, she was still a thoroughly decent person. He trusted she wouldn’t intentionally cause a scene.

“Oh?” Regis’ eyebrows shot up. “You never told me.”

Ciri gave him a crooked smile. “My mama died when I was very young. Papa couldn’t take care of me, so it fell on my godfather to raise me.”

Geralt ruffled Ciri’s hair, and she smacked his shoulder. “We’ve done alright. She was a prefect at school, but never made Head Girl because she takes after me too much.”

Regis’ smile widened. “Dare I ask?”

Ciri guffawed. “Something to do with turning the Slytherin common room colors to hot pink and glittery. My head of house told me I wasn’t showing proper respect for my prestigious house legacy.”

Geralt started snorting with laughter. He’d seen the photos Ciri had snapped before she got caught. “I was invited for the disciplinary meeting her head of house insisted on having. The hardest day of my life, I think I broke a rib trying not to laugh.” 

Regis started to laugh as he watched him and Ciri succumb to hysterics, and there was a look of fond warmth on his face. Geralt felt a new sort of ease settle over them all. Regis had a benevolent aura, but Geralt was happily surprised Ciri, too, was feeling so comfortable with him.

“So,” Ciri said with a sly smile when she finally caught her breath. “I want to hear how you two met.” She nudged Geralt with her elbow but kept her eyes fixed on Regis.

The vampire wiped his mouth and smiled. “Geralt didn’t tell you? How rude of him.”

Ciri nodded. “I agree. He refused to give me any details, only dumped his houseplants on me three weeks ago and made up some crap excuse about not having the time to look after them.” She gestured towards the heavy curtains, ignoring the way Regis’ eyes went wary. “I mean, I know they cannot live without sunlight, but did he think that they can live without water? It’s not like I know how to look after them.”

Regis cleared his throat. He was sitting very still, and without thinking, Geralt covered his hand with his own. Regis squeezed his fingers carefully. He looked like he was thinking hard.

Ciri sighed. She started to fold her napkin into a crane but kept her green eyes on the vampire. “Regis, I’m not blind. I could do the math and most likely guess things right about you, but I’m not mean. If Geralt is comfortable with you, I trust that you’re alright.”

Regis blinked. Ciri smiled again, wider. “I’m not interested in your private stuff. If you ever feel like telling me that’s great, but please don’t feel obligated to do so.” She finished the crane and set it on the table. “What I want to hear is embarrassing stories about my dad, and that’s all.”

Regis’ tension broke and he started to laugh. It was relieved, and Geralt wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Regis sagged against him, and Geralt threw a thankful smile at Ciri. She shrugged, her eyes happy and soft as she watched them lean onto each other.

It must be hard, Geralt thought, to have to guard yourself so closely all the time. Regis was powerful, but there was a deep sort of humanity to him that Geralt was seeing more and more of. In a way, the vampire was more human than some humans Geralt had met. He knew he was quickly falling for Regis, and having Ciri’s approval meant the world to him.

“Geralt wandered into my shop one evening,” Regis suddenly said. He didn’t pull away, but he met Ciri’s curious stare with a mischievous look. “He failed to notice the diner was gone.”

Ciri snorted some coffee up her nose. “Sounds like him.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but as he settled to listening Regis and Ciri discussing his cat eyes and the faulty potion that had caused them, he felt good; he was at home with his daughter and the man he was falling in love with, and the two of them were getting along. All three of them were the odd ones out, and yet they had found their place in the world.


End file.
